


Fluffing the Pillows

by wtsnhlms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Time Topping, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Married Sex, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sherlock, Rimming, gross overuse of italics, implied switchlock, nonexistent refractory periods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtsnhlms/pseuds/wtsnhlms
Summary: Sherlock is jealous.John'd better watch out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my bees in the addisbeesquad, with all my love <3

For the fifth time that night, Sherlock Holmes found himself letting out a small noise of utter frustration. 

He watched - no, more like _glared_ \- as John spun their murder suspect’s beau all across the dance floor, a flirty grin plastered all over the blonde’s face. He even had the cheek to meet the detective’s fierce gaze as he was kissing the back of the lady's hand, asking her for a dance. 

Sherlock was decidedly _not_ happy. 

His partner leaned forward then, unacceptably close to the woman's face, turning his head to whisper something into her ear; She laughed, head thrown back in what is undoubtedly the most exaggerated expression of mirth Sherlock has ever seen. Her hands flew up to grasp at John's shoulder and snake around his waist, subtly yet not-so-subtly squeezing as she flopped her head forwards to rest forehead-to-forehead with John. 

Correction: The consulting detective was positively _seething_. 

‘ _Get your manicured hands off of him_ ,’ Sherlock screeched in his head. ‘ _He's mine!_ ’

He was fighting all instinct to grab John and leave then and there but he had a case to solve, and that involved, ironically, luring their main suspect in by having John attempt to steal the attentions of the sultry Mrs Roberts. 

He couldn't risk blowing their cover now just because he couldn't accept that other people were touching _his_ John - but with every minute that passed, the urge to stalk forward and put an end to this and _to hell with the case_ and get his partner back grew to almost cataclysmic levels. 

Sherlock fidgeted endlessly in his seat, eyes burning fierce into the back of Mrs Roberts’ head, his glass of wine all but threatening to smash into pieces in his tightening grasp. 

However, he was determined to solve this case for the incompetent Scotland Yard, and as he spotted a flash of silver at his periphery, Sherlock was up and out of his seat, trailing his main suspect and cornering - not to mention, subsequently coaxing out a confession and handcuffing him - in the loos. Firing off a quick text to Lestrade, Sherlock strode over back to the large main hall, where the guests was oblivious to the silent arrest of their host. 

Scanning the bevy of twirling bodies on the dance floor, Sherlock spotted a flash of dirty blonde hair. Grabbing both of their coats, he moved briskly forward to where John was in the middle of what appeared to be a bright red lipstick-covered kiss aiming straight for his cheek, accompanied by a barely covered thigh deliberately brushing against the front of his suit trousers..

“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock hissed in the direction of a shell-shocked Mrs Roberts, grabbing John by the waist and pulling him flush against his body. ”You may want to put more effort into finding out what your husband has been doing behind your back and thus the reason for your dwindling marriage before you go about seducing other people’s spouses.” He thrust John’s left hand at her face, the shiny white gold ring glinting in the bright lights. “He’s _mine_.”

“Uh- Sorry, didn’t see the ring there, I swear-” Mrs Roberts spluttered, hands at her chest as if scandalised, but Sherlock has no time for dramatics and he really, really needed to get them both home right this minute. He turned to face John - _his_ husband - and frowned when he saw the teasing smirk he both hated and loved so much.

“Home, _now_ ,” Sherlock almost barked, pulling John along with him, out into the cold January air and flagging down the first available cab in sight. They got in, the both of them pressed shoulder to toe for the whole cab ride to Baker Street, the tension palpable in the air. 

John cleared his throat first. “I vaguely remember removing the ring before we reached the party. Tough to seduce someone with a ring on your finger, and all that.”

Sherlock kept quiet, body tensed, a new kind of energy thrumming in his veins.

John continued, undeterred by what appeared to be the routine sulking session on Sherlock’s end. “Well. I take it you managed to apprehend the husband? You know I don’t like it when you go after a murderer alone.”

Sherlock sighed. “It’s done, it’s over and yes, I left him handcuffed to the toilet. I simply gave you the chance to let loose during the case.”

“Oh? What’s got you so worked up then?” John asked, but he had this look on his face that usually meant he knew the answer. Sherlock stared as the knowing smirk returned, accompanied by a flash of pink as John licked his lips. Unwilling to give up the fight just yet, he turned to face the window once more.

“I don't share,” Sherlock mumbled into the breath-fogged glass as he stared out at the passing buildings. 

“Hmm? What was that, love?” 

The detective was momentarily spared from answering John's question as their ride stopped in front of 221B. He threw a wad of notes at the driver before throwing the door open and swiftly pulling out his keys to let them in, only to be crowded against the door once they were both inside. 

“I know that face,” John teased, his face mere inches from Sherlock's. “You were jealous.”

“What are you on about?” Sherlock squirmed, gasping when John’s hands reached out to grasp his wrists, pinning them against the door. “Why would I be jealous? You’re my husband, not hers.”

“Aha! It wasn’t my idea to flirt with the lady in the first place, if you’d recall correctly. Before this you had no problem using me as a distraction, so why now? What was different this time?” John purred, nuzzling his nose down Sherlock’s exposed neck. He nudged forwards, closing the gap between them, stretching up to place a chaste kiss on plump, cupid’s bow lips.

“John, I-” Sherlock whimpered, closing his eyes, head awash in a dizzying rush of endorphins.

“You forget, Sherlock, that I can appreciate aesthetic beauty, be it man or woman, and Mrs Roberts was such a pretty thing too-”

Sherlock growled, hard, jerking forwards and around, switching their places so he had John pressed against the door with a loud thud, bringing their clasped hands up above the smaller man’s head in a sudden display of dominance. “Don’t you dare,” Sherlock rasped, tilting his head to lightly run his teeth along his husband’s earlobe, mouth tugging at the corners at the answering groan below him. “You are now officially ‘ _off the market_ ’, as you were, and I don’t appreciate you being too friendly with our clients, or anyone for that matter.”

“There you are,” John gasped, crying out when Sherlock bit down with the slightest pressure on the skin just below his jaw. “I was wondering when I would get to see this fierce, sexy side of my husband. I should have demonstrated my impeccable flirting skills _long_ ago-”

“John!” Sherlock rumbled, his deep baritone sending shockwaves down both their bodies. “I don’t like it. It took us a long time to get where we are and I don’t like feeling like I can lose you anytime to some strutting, buxom woman. You were a ladies’ man most of your life and…” he cut off, connecting their lips in another bruising kiss.

“God, Sherlock, is that what you really think?” John responded, growing limp under Sherlock’s onslaught. He chased the other man’s lips, letting his tongue slip in between the pinkened lips already slightly swollen from the force of their kisses. “I love you, god, I love you so much, I must be doing poorly as your lover if you’re still considering silly things like that.”

Sherlock released John’s hands, dropping them to wrap around and press John’s crotch against his, his head dropping to rest on the other man’s shoulder, mouth working, trying to leave a mark through the exquisite dark blue dress shirt he had proudly gifted to John for his last birthday. It was his favourite shirt on him; It brought out the indescribable blue of John’s eyes, making him look undoubtedly attractive and simply irresistible. Now Sherlock only wanted to rip the shirt off him, for apparently the shirt made him too irresistible for strangers to ignore, and that would not do, because John is his, his partner, his lover, his husband.

“John, John, I need, I need-” Sherlock whispered, struggling to voice what he wanted most at that very moment. He was worried that John would laugh it off, or worse, push him away, treat this as another one of his so-called childish tantrums. 

“Go on,” John prompted, shifting his hips ever so slightly, both men breaking apart from the kiss as the movement made known their growing erections. The air was starting to get stifling; The heated gasps against skin coupled with the dimmed light of the corridor only serving to fuel the desperate rubbing of one body against another, punctuated by soft moans and light teases of tongue. “What do you need?”

“You, I need to make you mine, mark you so that others know you’re mine and mine alone. I need to have you, John, please, let me have you,” Sherlock whined, rutting shamelessly against the smaller man’s stomach, burying his face in soft, golden hair as a fierce wave of possessiveness and love swept over him, threatening to pull him under, but John, wonderful John was there, as always, holding out his hand: a welcome anchor to keep Sherlock grounded, and the only one to ever make him feel both fragile and protected and loved, all at the same time.

“Oh, love, yes, please do,” John said, pulling back to stare into his eyes. “Do what you need to do. I’ve already got ‘Property of Sherlock Holmes’ stamped on my heart and on my ring, why not my body too?” he laughed, light-heartedly, stilling Sherlock’s hips and laying a light teasing kiss on the tip of the detective’s nose. “But first we need to get upstairs before Hudders gets an eyeful, yeah?”

Sherlock acquiesced with a sigh, pulling John up the stairs to 221B, helping him shed his suit jacket and his own coat before sandwiching him against the door to the sitting room. He wasted no time in nipping at lips, licking his way into John’s mouth, his hands grabbing at any part of John he could reach. The man went limp beneath him, letting Sherlock take complete control, only pausing once in awhile to remind the taller man to let them both get some air. He was mostly staring at the ceiling in awe as his husband laved his neck in wet, loud kisses, his body jerking when Sherlock bit down on his collarbone.

“Wait, wait, shirts off, everything off,” John gasps, making to undo his shirt buttons but Sherlock beat him to it, ripping the shirt off enough to make the buttons go flying. “Was that even necessary?!”

“That shirt evidently made you _too_ attractive for other people,” Sherlock growled, taking a beat to ease the sleeves and the remains of the shirt off of John’s torso and throwing it on the floor. “I’ll procure a replacement later.”

“Of course,” John giggled, rolling his eyes, surging up to retaliate with another rough kiss. The both of them worked hand in hand to remove Sherlock’s shirt, and subsequently both of their trousers until they were naked save for their pants, both barely managing to conceal their burgeoning erections.

“Fuck,” John whispered, eyes blazing in anticipation.

Sherlock lunged, grabbing John and flipping him around so that he was practically kissing the wall, dragging his teeth and placing light teasing kisses on the smaller man’s well-muscled back as he ground up against him, the bulge in his pants rubbing against the cleft of John’s arse. “Oh god, John,” Sherlock moaned, thrusting in minute motions, locking his arms tight around John’s waist, meeting him halfway as John turned his head to gasp and whimper into his mouth. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Sherlock,” John groaned, one hand reaching around to grasp at Sherlock’s nape, keeping him in place as his mouth was plundered in kisses. Sherlock wasted no time in sucking John’s bottom lips in between his own, determined to leave no part of him untouched and unmarked. He continued rutting against his husband, the movement slick from the pre-come leaking from his hard cock, both of their bodies now covered in a light sheen of sweat from the exertion.

Sherlock trailed his hands up towards John’s chest, quickly finding his nipples, flicking and pinching them, knowing how sensitive they were, revelling in the breathless moans that escaped John’s mouth. He grinned, ignoring John’s straining erection save for a teasing brush of the pads of his fingers across the front of his boxer briefs. He broke their kiss, mouthing his way down that tempting stretch of skin before him and towards his favourite part of John’s body: the gunshot scar on the shoulder, the very thing that brought John Watson to Sherlock Holmes. This he worshipped with tentative brushes of his lips, murmuring soothing declarations of love over each and every fold of healing and healed skin, his hands caressing John’s sides, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Sh- Sherlock, god, please,” John whimpered, scrabbling for purchase as Sherlock slid down, licking and biting until he was kneeling on the floor, eye level with John’s arse. Slowly, oh so slowly, he slid the black boxer briefs down over the sinful curves of John’s arse, breathing hot bursts of air as each new stretch of skin was revealed. Once he helped John step out of the pants, he dove straight in, kneading his husband’s arse with his large hands, pulling them apart to reveal the pink pucker and the heavy bollocks underneath.

Sherlock had to take a moment to catch his breath, his mouth going completely dry at the sight. He had never done this before, but he knew what he often liked every time the two of them made love, and so he was determined to make this good for the both of them.

Licking his lips, Sherlock pressed a firm kiss on the whorl of skin, reaching a hand out to steady John as his knees threatened to give way from the sudden influx of sensations. “ _Fuck_!” John wailed, pressing the whole of his upper body against the wallpaper, at the same time pushing back against Sherlock’s face, where it was buried in his arse, licking and massaging away. “Fucking hell, Sherlock, your _mouth_ -!”

It was absolutely filthy, and Sherlock _loved_ it, preening under his husband’s praise, his head awash in relief that he was doing well so far, but they had a long way to go yet. He pressed his tongue in, massaging and coaxing the tight muscles to loosen, saliva dripping from his mouth onto the floor. He alternated between fucking John with his tongue with none-too-gentle bites to both arse cheeks, his actions making loud wet sounds, rubbing his hands up and down John’s thighs, feeling the man tremble under his ministrations.

John gasped and whined, trying hard to keep still and avoid touching his erection, which was now steadily leaking pre-come onto the wall and the floor. “God, Sherlock, I’m not going to last long like this, just fuck me already!”

“Be patient, John,” Sherlock drawled, grinning against the other man’s sacrum. “What was the saying, ‘good things come to those who wait’?” He continued thrusting his tongue in and out of John’s entrance, feeling the arousal throb painfully in his groin as he fondled John's bullocks, hanging heavy and full. Trailing a finger down his perineum, Sherlock added the slightest pressure, teasing John's prostate from the outside, eliciting a yelp and a hand grasping desperately at his hair. 

“Please, god, Sherlock, I don't think I can keep this up any longer,” John pled, and so Sherlock stood, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand. He pulled his husband the short distance over to the sofa, positioning him so he was lying on his back, his head supported on the arm. “Ah, not the bed then?”

“Surprisingly, John, we've yet to properly christen the sofa.” Sherlock hurried to remove his own briefs, sighing in relief as his aching erection was freed of its confines. 

“ _Really_?”

“Whenever we start snogging here, you never fail to make sure we're on the bed before either of us orgasms,” Sherlock shrugged, reaching in between the sofa cushions to retrieve the half-full (or half-empty, really, by way of being smug) bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his hand before flinging the bottle onto the coffee table. 

John casually flung one leg up onto the back of the sofa, baring himself to the detective, face adorned with that smirk again. “Get over here, you madman.” With that he pulled Sherlock down, bringing their groins together into blissful contact. He groaned as their mouths connected, both of them hungry for their bodies to touch, their heated skin flushed with arousal, limbs clumsy. 

Sherlock snaked a hand down to wrap around both of their cocks, cursing under his breath at the shock wave that shot up his spine, leaving him breathless with anticipation. The sensation quickly became too much too fast, and he released his hold quickly, placing a light kiss on John's swollen lips before sliding down, taking a moment to lick around and into John's belly button, fully aware of which spots on John's body usually brought on sensory overload. 

His husband had quickly lost all coherent thought, muttering and gasping unintelligible words barely loud enough for Sherlock to pick up. The detective smiled against the trail of hair leading down to John's cock, flushed almost purple, close to bursting. He gave it a sympathetic lick below the head, eyes turned predatory at the sight of his husband writhing, hips lifting off the sofa in a pained cry. 

“Fuck, fuck!” John sobbed, biting down into the palm of his hand. He keened some more as Sherlock sucked him down to the root, bobbing upwards and down, not missing a beat. “Alright, alright, yeah, please, just please, I'm yours, there's no one else, I _swear to god_ -” and with a startled shout he came in thick rivulets down Sherlock's throat. 

The taller man swallowed all he could, suckling hard and coaxing every last drop out of his husband, his fingers kneading John's hips. His own cock throbbed, red and neglected, twitching against the leather where it brushed the sofa. As he felt John’s cock softening, he let go, crawling back up the sturdy ex-army doctor's body, kissing and biting playfully, giving the man space to come down from his high. 

When John finally opened his eyes, Sherlock rewarded him with a passionate kiss, smoothing back the hair plastered to his forehead. 

“You are something else when you're jealous, my darling bumblebee,” John laughed, smoothing his hands down the other man's cheeks and neck. “And now it's your turn. Come on, I'm done waiting for you to properly mark me.” He adjusted himself, pulling his leg down from the back of the sofa and bracing his hands under his knees, pulling until he was almost bent in half. 

Sherlock scrambled to get ready, throat closed too tight in excitement to say anything than grunt in agreement. Retrieving the lube, he coated his fingers, bringing them to John's hole, two fingers slipping in easily. 

_So tight_ , Sherlock thought in wonder. _How is it possible to want someone as much as I want you?_

After some scissoring motions followed by the introduction of a third finger, John's enthusiastic nod gave him the green light. Sherlock braced his knees just under his husband's arse, pulling him into his lap, ensuring the best angle for penetration. His heart thudded loud and insistent in his ears, and his world narrowed down to just the two of them.

“Say it, please.”

“ _I'm yours. Always._ ”

With a gasp, Sherlock pushed in, careful not to go too deep too fast, letting John get used to the stretch and fullness. He leaned forwards, folding John down further, opening up his hips until their faces were a breath’s apart. As he stared into the deep cobalt blue eyes he loved so much, Sherlock gritted his teeth, pushing in all the way until his groin was flush against John's arse. 

“Oh my god, John.”

“Buggering fuck, yeah, that's it, Sherlock,” John growled, reaching down to grasp as much of Sherlock's bottom as he could reach, holding on as Sherlock pounded into him at an unrelenting pace. His head had dropped to press against John's clavicle, mouthing against his skin, _mine mine mine John mine mine mine_ flashing across his mind like a mantra, both welcoming and frightening. 

Sherlock could feel John's cock already filling back to full mast, beating down the surprise at the nonexistent refractory period to make way to the self-satisfaction of potentially giving John his second orgasm in less than an hour. The movement of their bodies served to provide adequate friction to the erection sandwiched between them, prompting Sherlock to make the slightest angle adjustment, bringing the head of his cock to press against John's prostate with each thrust. 

The two men moved in perfect synchrony, their moans and the slick sounds of skin-on-skin filling 221B. A few more thrusts later, Sherlock could feel the stirrings of his orgasm at his lower abdomen, radiating outwards onto his extremities, flooding his brain with endorphins, blurring his vision. John, sensing how close he was, clenched down hard on where they were joined, hands flying up to scrape deep marks down Sherlock's back. 

“Ah, ah, ah, John, oh god, John, I can't, oh, _oh_!” Sherlock wailed into his husband's neck, thrusting and pounding once, twice, three times hard, his limbs screaming of exhaustion, before opening his mouth and sucking hard on the side of John's neck, breaking the surface blood vessels, nursing the beginnings of what was sure to be a brilliant bruise; He released the skin in a silent cry, hips jerking in quick, minute thrusts as his body stilled, his cock spurting a copious amount of come, coating John's insides, leaving no doubt as to whom John Watson belonged. 

His world went blindingly white, just barely aware that John was also still beneath him, the sensation of John's cock ejaculating between them, with less come than before but an impressive amount nonetheless. Sherlock moved to pull out, eyes widening at the sight of his come dripping out of John's hole. 

_Yours._

He settled back on top of John's sated body. Looking up, he caught the other man's gaze with his own. They stared, silent and exhilarated. 

And promptly broke into hysterical, loving giggles. 

***

Sometime later, the two men got up to share a shower, taking time to admire the new marks on John's body; stumbling and still giggling when they collapsed into bed, wrapping limbs around each other like only an octopus could.

*** 

The next morning found Sherlock spooning the smaller man, teasing John with bites of his earlobe, neck, shoulder, inhaling his scent, the scent of _them_. He rubbed John's nipples, swallowing his moans as he kept his arm hooked under John's left leg, thrusting steadily into the welcome heat of his lover's body. 

“God, you're magnificent, you beautiful, gorgeous, incredible thing, you,” John praised, resting his head back onto the pillow, pressing back into Sherlock's every thrust. His left hand worked hard at bringing himself off, wrist flicking at each alternate pull. Sherlock huffed, kissing the top of his husband’s head. 

“John. Thank you for letting me have this. I love you,” Sherlock whispered, loud enough for John to catch. 

“Anything for you, love. I'm all yours. And the feeling is very much mutual.”

They tumbled into their orgasms shortly after, reassured and tired but trusting and oh so happy to explore this new facet of their relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://wtsnhlms.tumblr.com) <3 if you wanna say hi!


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